cobble-stoned path a dog was dragging a milk-cart, the gleaming brass cans clanking from side to side; through the open window came the faint indescribable scent which distinguishes a continental from a British city. Claire stared with unseeing eyes, her heart beating with heavy thuds. She conjured up the image of a man’s face—a strong kindly face—a face which might well make the sunshine of some woman’s life, but which made no appeal to her own heart. She set her lips, and two bright spots of colour showed suddenly in her cheeks. So smooth and uneventful had been her life that this was the first time that she had found herself face to face with serious difficulty, and, after the first shock of realisation, her spirit rose to meet it. She straightened her shoulders as if throwing off a weight, and her heart cried valiantly, “It’s my own life, and I will not be forced! There must be some other way. It’s for me to find it!”

Suddenly she whirled round, and walked back to her mother.

“Mother, if you knew how little money was left, why wouldn’t you let me accept Miss Farnborough’s offer at Christmas!”

For a moment Mrs Gifford’s face expressed nothing but bewilderment. Then comprehension dawned.

“You mean the school-mistress from London? What was it she suggested? That you should go to her as a teacher? It was only a suggestion, so far as I remember. She made no definite offer.”

“Oh, yes, she did. She said that she had everlasting difficulty with her French mistresses, and that I was the very person for whom she’d been looking. Virtually French, yet really English in temperament. She made me a definite offer of a hundred and ten pounds a year.”

Mrs Gifford laughed, and shrugged her graceful shoulders. She appeared to find the proposal supremely ridiculous, yet when people were without money, the only sane course seemed to be to take what one could get. Claire felt that she had not yet mastered the situation. There must be something behind which she had still to grasp.

“Well, never mind the school for a moment, mother dear. Tell me what you thought of doing. You must have had some plan in your head all these years while the money was dwindling away. Tell me your scheme, then we can compare the two and see which is better.”

Mrs Gifford bent her head over the table, and scribbled aimlessly with a pen in which there was no ink. She made no answer in words, yet as she waited the 

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